


Balancing the Equation

by InsectKin



Category: La Passe-Miroir | The Mirror Visitor - Christelle Dabos
Genre: Alternate Scene, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Vanilla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29719137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsectKin/pseuds/InsectKin
Summary: Kissing was still new to her, and she marveled at how a mouth so severe could be so soft. His lips between hers, the smooth-shaven skin of his face — the two of them were here, finally, able to take the time they needed. When he kissed her back, she thrilled at each new part of him that touched her — his breath, his teeth, his tongue.*An alternate ending to the last scene in The Memory of Babel that doesn't immediately fade to black. Featuring Ophelia's insecurities and Thorn's Extreme Emotional Baggage.
Relationships: Ophélie/Thorn (La Passe-Miroir)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	Balancing the Equation

**Author's Note:**

> If you, like me, felt that after waiting for three books we deserved a liiiiiiittle more at the end ... here you go ;)
> 
> We start with Thorn saying that he doesn't _only_ want Ophelia's finer feelings.

… "No half-measures," Thorn interrupted her. "I am not and do not wish to be your friend. It is too lopsided an equation."

Ophelia turned off the radio and stood in front of him, their faces level as he sat on the bed. His eyes bored into hers and her heart beat hard in her throat. "What do you wish, then?"

"I wish for balance. I wish for  _you_ , Ophelia — all of you. And if I cannot have — "

He became silent when she placed her hands on either side of his face. His wish was so simple, something he hadn't realized he already had. "I'm yours, Thorn. All of me."

His lips parted and his gaze darted between her eyes, as if waiting for a  _but_. She leaned in and kissed him. 

Kissing was still new to her, and she marveled at how a mouth that seemed so severe could be so soft. His lips between hers, the smooth-shaven skin of his face — the two of them were here, finally, able to take the time they needed. When he kissed her back, she thrilled at each new part of him that touched her — his breath, his teeth, his tongue.

She let him push the dressing gown off her shoulders, his hands ghosting down from her shoulder blades to rest on the back of her thighs. She expected his fingers to be cold, but even through the fabric of her shift they nearly seared her skin. Her internal monologue had stopped and it was now her body urging her on:  _More!_ it demanded.  _Keep going._

She began undoing the buttons of his shirt, willing her fingers to work together even as her attention was completely occupied by the feeling of Thorn's tongue against hers and the heat building low in her belly. When she had released all the buttons, she leaned in to remove his shirt fully. He turned his head as she did, the tip of his nose smudging her lenses, now saturated in a deep pink flush. He reached for her glasses and murmured, "Let's take these off."

"I can't see at all without them."

The corners of his lips twitched in a frown that was meant to be a smile. "I don't think you'll want to see this." 

Ophelia's throat tightened — the  _this_ he was referring to was himself. She leaned back to examine his chest, tracing her fingers lightly along the edge of his open shirt. He sighed when she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, but didn't resist.

The pale skin of his chest and his arms were a patchwork of injuries. Not all the scars were as neat as the one bisecting his eyebrow; these were too numerous and too overlapping for even the ex-Treasurer to count. And those were just the visible ones.

She looked up at Thorn, his gaze fastened on a corner of the room. She placed her hands on either side of his face again, turned him towards her. "I want all of you, too." His eyes flickered, daring to hope, and she bent and kissed the scar on his shoulder.

A quick intake of breath, and he used the leverage the length of his arms provided to pull her onto his lap. She settled her knees on either side of his hips and met his mouth with hers, his hands moving up her thighs under the hem of her nightgown. She pressed forward into the kiss, and as she shifted her weight, she felt him harden beneath her.

Mediana's words chose that moment to come back to her — when it came to men, she was nothing more than an inexperienced  _bambina_. Kissing was one thing, but he'd soon be expecting — what? When she didn't know what to do, would she seem like a fool? Would he think of her as a  _child_? Her whole body stiffened, unsure.

Thorn must have felt her muscles tighten; his hands froze. He pulled back from her, face shuttered. "If this is not what you want —"

"It's not that, at all." Ophelia's cheeks reddened and she felt a creeping guilt at how quickly he had become withdrawn. "It's just that I've never done this before. I don't have any … experience." 

"That was made clear before our marriage," he replied stiffly.

_Ah, yes, the chaperone_. "I don't know if _you_ have … um." She cleared her throat, hoping he'd understood what she'd been unable to say. "Have you, before?"

He blinked and his posture relaxed. "My aunt and you are the only people who can stand me. When it comes to experience of this nature, I have none." His mouth twisted into what she now recognized as a smile. "Somewhat less than that, even."

She hadn't realized the extent of the worry she'd had around her relative lack of experience until the knot of her anxiety released. What did she imagine a man who slept at his office had been doing in her absence? She allowed herself a tentative, sheepish smile. "So …"

" … we figure it out together." Thorn placed his hands on her hips. "If that was your only concern, I'd like to get back to kissing you." Ophelia laughed, lighter than she'd felt in a long time, and pressed her lips to his. They didn't separate until he pulled her nightgown over her head.

When he leaned back to look at her — who would have thought that eyes that held so much ice could make every corner of her body feel so warm? He traced his lips down her neck and she ran her fingers over the smooth ridges of scars on his back. 

He pivoted his torso, laying her down on the bed beside him. When he attempted to follow, his body stopped abruptly with a loud _click_. Thorn turned back and began methodically undoing the brace around his leg. Ophelia had almost forgotten, had certainly not been cautious of it. She sat up: "Your leg—"

"—is not on the list of things I'm thinking about right now." 

She had seen how terrifyingly fast his mind moved, knew how long that list was. She watched as he unfastened the brace, fingers swift and sure. "What is on that list, then?"

"You," he replied. He dropped his brace over the side of the bed and turned back towards her, pushing her gently down onto the bed. His face hovered right above hers. "Right now, that list is just you." 

She pulled him closer and he kissed her ear, her neck, her collarbone. Despite the warmth of his breath, she shivered. He spoke without moving his lips from her skin: "Tell me what you want."

She bit down on her lower lip. She had determined to tell Thorn what she felt, but how could she begin to make sense of what was happening to her right now? His teeth closed gently on a patch of skin over her collarbone and she stifled a whimper. "How do I know?" she asked.

"Listen to yourself." He kissed the top of her breasts, between them, his movements soft and reverent. "What is your body telling you?"

Ophelia's body was telling her _more!_ and _all of it!_ and _NOW!_ She didn't know where to begin, didn't know how to give voice to these feelings. When she hesitated, Thorn raised his head to look at her. His gaze burned the parts of her that weren't already on fire. "You have taught me many things, Ophelia. Let me learn this as well."

She closed her eyes and listened to her body, the parts of her that were scorching from contact and the parts that ached for more. "I want you to touch me."

"Where?"

"Lower." His hands moved down her torso, exploring, marveling, and his lips trailed after them. When his fingertips brushed between her legs, she moaned. 

Thorn's voice was gravel. "I'll take that as _keep going_." She took a shaky inhale and nodded, unable to open her eyes.

His fingers rubbed against her clit and her toes curled on their own volition. When, a little later, he slipped a finger inside her, she gasped. 

"Good gasp?" he asked.

"Good gasp." He explored inside of her, stroking a part of her that she hadn't realized had been waiting for his touch. He kissed her stomach, the crease where her leg met her body, the inside of her thighs. He kissed her clit and her whole body jumped, hips arching off the bed and surprising them both. 

He looked up, concern etched over the raw animal hunger of his face. "Was that—" 

"—Good. That was very good." She caught her breath and gave a short laugh. "Whatever that was, do it again." He smiled, and did.

Ophelia learned the benefit of a husband with his memory and attention to detail. He explored her with strokes and kisses and licks — not everything he tried worked but she let her body do the talking and he incorporated the feedback diligently. When she came around his fingers, her own clutched tightly in his hair, he kept stroking her, kept licking until she pulled him up towards her.

His pupils were wide, his breath heavy — she wanted to cradle him in her arms and she wanted to touch every inch of him. "I want you inside me," she whispered.

She didn't have to ask twice. He sat back, unbuttoned his pants and slid out of them and his shorts in one move. She sat up to watch him, watch the reveal of his erection, the scars and asymmetric shape of his leg. There would be a time later, when she would examine his leg, when she would touch and kiss every scar. But now … she had other things on her mind right now. Once his pants were off, she put a hand on his chest and pushed him, gently but firmly, down onto his back.

His eyes flashed, lust tinged with hurt. "If you think that my leg will keep me—"

"Your leg is not on the list of things I'm thinking about right now." He let her push him back down, her fingers splayed across his chest. She put her knees on either side of his hips, trapping the hard length of him between them, bringing her face close, brushing her lips against his. "Will you let me?" The groan he gave in response said there was very little he would not let her do to him right now.

She reached down to guide him in to her, keeping their faces as close as their height difference allowed. His eyes widened and his lips parted as she lowered herself down, down, slowly adjusting to the feeling of having him inside her.

Her godmother had told her it would hurt the first time, but she had made it sound worse than it was — or perhaps Ophelia had been through so much in the last few years that it barely registered. Ophelia had moved not very far, just enough to take all of him inside her, but by the time their bodies met they were both breathing heavily.

Thorn held her gaze, focused. "You okay?"

She nodded. "You?" His fingers grasped her hips and he groaned. She smiled and rocked forward.

She moved slowly at first, learning, adjusting to the way he felt inside her, savoring every moan she drew from his throat. After a while, she braced her hands against his chest and picked up the pace, moving faster against him. Her body, for once, didn't betray her, every part of her working towards the same goal: _more! faster!_ _moremoreMORE!_ Perhaps those years of ignoring her body was what had made it so intractable; perhaps the problem was that she hadn't been listening to it before, that she hadn't felt that she could.

Thorn pulled her down and lifted his head up to meet hers, fingers tight in her hair, kissing her with teeth and tongue. She felt her own moan as a vibration in his chest. When he released her mouth, he kept their foreheads pressed together, his gaze hazy, unfocused. His hips began to rise to meet hers and his breath became harsh.

And suddenly, she felt the brush of his claws. She had a split second of panic, but the moment his claws grabbed onto her nervous system, she realized that what they were doing was the opposite of _hurt_. No doubt Berenilde would have mentioned this if Ophelia hadn't been whisked off to Anima immediately after her wedding; perhaps Ophelia would have already learned how to do this, too. The wave of sensation from his claws began building; Thorn, beneath her, was unfocused, unaware of what he was doing, of how deeply he had penetrated every part of her. His claws tightened around her, tugging and stroking each of her nerve endings at once, and all Ophelia could say was " _Oh_ -"

She shattered around Thorn, her breathing ragged and eyes squeezed shut against the sensory onslaught of a pleasure more intense than any she had ever known. A few thrusts later Thorn grabbed her to him, groaning, pulling her as close to him as he could in the throes of his own orgasm.

For several minutes, neither of them moved. It took that long for Ophelia to find her breath again. When she tilted her head up, her mouth met Thorn's and he kissed her, deeply and thoroughly, fingers of one hand still twined in her hair.

When the kiss ended, they both laughed. The tension that had been building in her had released, all of it. Her stomach felt warm, those hard closed parts of her that she had needed to keep herself safe these last few years now were open. He moved his hand, caught a curl of her hair.

"I like your short hair," he said, stroking it. "I like all of you. A lot." He exhaled a laugh. "Somewhat more than that, even."

She stretched her neck to kiss his nose. "I like all of you a lot, too."

They lay in bed, heads close, listening to the thrumming of the rain and the soft, dancing beat of their hearts. They held each other as the world around them began, once more, to end.


End file.
